Touch
by SilverWolf7
Summary: Family of Blood missing scene. Based loosely off a scene in the novel Human Nature. The Doctor thinks on human feelings and things go too far between him and Martha in his exploration of them.


Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. BBC does.

Notes: Based loosely off the end of the novel, the part in Wolsey's POV, but turned around to fit in with the television two-parter. An exploration of human feelings.

Enjoy. I had fun writing it.

Touch

The doors to the TARDIS closed behind him, and with his usual energy, he got the ship to dematerialise in front of Timothy. Might as well give the boy something more to remember him by, other than bad memories and an old fob watch.

He didn't bother setting coordinates for a destination yet. It had been a rough day and he was actually looking forward to sleeping for a bit to rest himself.

Martha had meant what she had said back in the cottage. As had Joan. The Doctor felt something inside him twist at the thought of what he had put the woman through, what he had put the entire village through.

He must still be assimilating his own Time Lord DNA properly or something. He had a headache forming and he felt the entirely too human need for touch. He looked at Martha and smiled. "I think we could both use a bit of rest, don't you? And some tea, I think tea would be very good right now."

Before Martha went off to the kitchen, he grabbed her and pulled her close into a tight hug, one he never really wanted to end. They stayed pinned together, her arms slightly wrapped around him in some kind of gesture of hugging back, which did nothing to ease his mind.

"Umm, tea then, Doctor?" she asked him, trying to loosen his grip on her and finally managed, wriggling away from him like some kind of caught fish on a hook.

He blinked, looked closely at her and realised that she just may have had a bit of trouble breathing and took a deep lungful of air himself. "Yes, tea. Sorry, got a bit...a bit carried away."

With a nod at her feet, Martha scurried off as quickly as her feet would take her to the kitchen, coming back in a few minutes' time with a steaming pot of tea and two cups. She set it on the grating that made up the floor, filled the two cups and handed one to him. They both took a seat on the captain's chair, glad that it was big enough for three.

He did all he could during the time they had their tea to keep in touch with her. A brush of hand against hand, a gentle nudge of her ankle with his foot, his knee banging against hers every now and again, and he could tell it was worrying her, but she never said anything.

He had learnt a lot being John Smith, least of all what it was like to be so in love that one could barely think straight. The human he had been was happy with his life, with his job for the most part, had been in love with a charming older woman who knew everything he had known about himself. He had even told Joan about his crazy dreams.

Human emotions were so much more open and stronger than what he was used to feeling. Even what he had had with Rose seemed miniscule compared to what he had had with Joan. He knew that he had loved Rose, but it had been small compared to...to the experience he had just lived through.

Well, what John had just lived through, but he remembered everything John did and felt and he was sure, absolutely positive, that that had been the real genuine feeling.

It made him, the Doctor, feel awful, because he had been the reason that they had been torn apart.

It didn't help that he was having some kind of residual play back. Something deep down inside _ached_.

He was used to heartache and grief. Maybe he didn't feel things as strongly because he was too busy always feeling the bitter, angry, sad parts instead of the good and happy things. If Rose had stayed with him, helped ease even more of his pain, he was sure he would have fallen deeper for her, much like what his human persona had felt.

Or maybe Time Lords just weren't meant to feel true true love. And that made some part of him that hadn't just been human ache.

He slid down the seat until he was leaning against Martha and grabbed her hand, the other still holding the teacup, which was empty now.

He talked instead, of how he had enjoyed the experience, of how he had never felt anything like it in his life, least of all the utterly odd feeling of having only one heart. He wondered how a human with only one of that organ could possibly feel things deeper than someone who had two.

Yep, the universe really did hate him.

And yet, Martha let him hold her hand, running her thumb lightly over his and eliciting shivers through his body at the action.

He did it without thinking, knowing that it would cause trouble between him and Martha later, but unable to stop himself. He leant forward that tiny little bit further and kissed her on the lips. And things just spiralled even more out of control after that.

A crash was all he heard of the teapot as it was pushed against the console, the tea inside flowing onto the tray that Martha had left it on, thankfully not going over the edge to fry the TARDIS's circuits.

There was a wild fumbling of clothes as the two of them rolled to the floor, looking for a spot a little more comfortable than the cold grating, but not finding anything better. And then there was nothing but touch and bodies pushed up against each other in a constant need to _feel_.

Warmth radiated off of Martha and his body seemed to soak it up like it needed it physically to survive. It was all heat, and fire and movements of which he hadn't truly felt the need to experience in a very long time, if ever.

It was intense and wild and somewhere deep down he knew it was utterly wrong of him to use Martha like this. But he couldn't help himself. He needed to know what it felt like, while he was still human enough in thought to do so.

He kept his eyes closed the entire time, and at the end of it, he had been quicker to catch his breath, rolled off her and lay on his side, staring at the remnants of what had used to be Rose's favourite tea set.

Martha hadn't talked to him. Instead, she had gotten up, quickly dressed herself again and picked up the tray with the pieces of broken china in it and went off to dispose of it. It didn't help the guilt he had begun feeling right after he had closed his eyes and let himself give in to touches and feelings, and he slowly dressed himself in the console room, quietly asking the TARDIS to tell him when Martha had gone to bed.

He hadn't had to wait long.

He had been planning to go to his own room himself and curl up in a ball on his bed, but he found himself roaming about the console room, thinking instead.

Joan Redfern, human, experienced, in love. With him, or at least the character he had made up to be him for three months.

John Smith, human, inexperienced, and in love.

He had ripped them apart, and it all seemed so unfair to him. Completely and utterly unfair. And he knew, like he had told Joan when he was back to his old self again, that while he could change back he wouldn't.

Anger rushed through him at the day's events. Above him, the chameleon arch hung, and pulling it down, he picked up the hammer he used when the TARDIS was mucking up, and smashed it as hard as possible until it lay in a broken heap.

It didn't help. He put the hammer up, leaned against the TARDIS and felt her gentle hum through his hands and the back of his mind where his link with his ship was. "What have I done? What did I do?" he asked, glancing down at the controls he was standing in front of.

He didn't get a concrete answer. Naturally, the TARDIS could only do so much for him in the communications department, but he felt her trying to comfort him, calm him from recent events, urging him to let go of John Smith and get back to himself.

The problem was he didn't know how. He sat back onto the chair, glanced at the time rotor and grimaced. He couldn't stop thinking of Joan and John, how their life together would have been, how they would have had children, been happy, stayed in love for the rest of their lives, and his death. Oh, his death. Normal, in bed, with the woman he loved at his side.

The reason he couldn't let go of John Smith was because that was the man he wanted to be. A normal life, with children and a wife who loved and adored him, and a good death that made him feel as if he had truly _lived_.

An ordinary life, that was all he wanted. It was the only thing as a Time Lord, the last of his kind now, that he _couldn't_ have.

He buried his head in his hands when he felt the first tears begin to fall. He stayed like that until he calmed down naturally, before standing up and going to bed.

He woke up hours later, and he found the intense feelings of before were gone.

Now he just felt empty.


End file.
